


the joxter never took anything seriously

by punkbean



Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Joxter meets Snufkin, M/M, i read the exploits of moominpappa today and boy do i have THOUGHTS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 15:58:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18831907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkbean/pseuds/punkbean
Summary: ………or so they thought.title from 'moominpappa's exploits' – i can't stop thinking about joxter, and him meeting snufkin, and what the heck he's thinking about all the time!





	the joxter never took anything seriously

Joxter had never seen himself as one for settling down. 

No, he liked the wandering life: no pressures, no deadlines, doing things on his own time and on his own motivations.

That had been before he met the Mymble. 

Most of the parents, or caregivers to children, that he had met in his life had been…well, some of his least favourite people. Like the Hemulen Aunt – they wanted everything done on _their_ terms, and they wanted to do the activities _they_ were interested in. It didn't matter that the children would object to these things – they were children, after all. They had to learn to deal with things they didn't like, or so they said. 

Mymble, though, took a more relaxed approach to parenting. She clearly adored her children, but she gave them a certain level of freedom. Plus, she praised them for their, ah… _unusual_ antics. From any other parent, Little My would have gotten a chiding for clogging up the _Oshun Oxtra's_ engines with porridge. Mymble, however, laughed joyously and seemed proud of her youngest daughter's creativity and mischief. 

Joxter was just fascinated by her. She was so carefree, and her children always seemed like they were having fun, not like the children who were forced to fall into an obedient line behind their parents.

It almost made Joxter want to be a father.

When he had started getting thoughts like that, he had panicked, to say the least. He had written a hasty note and left, but wherever he went, no matter how many beautiful things he saw, his mind kept flitting back to the big, bright, and beautiful Mymble. 

So, of course, he had returned. He apologised profusely to Mymble, and at first he was met with a cold reception, but it soon thawed: she was back to being the happy, relaxed Mymble he knew and adored. They fell into a pleasant almost-routine. Joxter was happy to lend a hand with the children, and he spent a fair amount of the time in the house. Mymble didn't look badly on him, however, when he took a few days to himself. Or even a few hours to himself, taking a for-once uninterrupted nap high in a tree. 

It was a good life. Not the life that Joxter had envisioned himself having, but a good one nonetheless. 

He almost didn't realise that so many years had passed until he received a letter from Moomin. Or, well, Moomin _pappa_ , as he signed off. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised – they were proper adults now. And of all of them, Moomin seemed like he would be the best father imaginable. His son or daughter was probably a delightful young Moomin.

The contents of the letter made it feel like the Groke had caught up with him, though. 

Moominpappa spoke of a boy. A boy who looked a lot like a Joxter and a little like a Mymble. Whose rough age would suggest that he had been born when Joxter had been off exploring and having his mid-life crisis or whatever it might have been. 

When it felt like the ice in his head had thawed, he stalked through the house until he found Mymble. It took a while – she was soaking in the bath, bubbles all the way up to her chin. For a moment, Joxter wondered how anyone found that pleasurable, but he had more important things to think about. 

He held the letter up for her to read. "Would you happen to know anything about this?" he asked, trying to keep the trace of anger out of his voice. 

It took Mymble a short while to read through the letter, but then she glanced up at Joxter with her usual airy smile. "Well, it was such a long time ago, my darling!"

"But you…" Joxter trailed off and turned the letter around to look for himself again. "A child. _Our_ child."

"It certainly seems that way, doesn't it?" Mymble asked, running her fingers over the bubbles in the bath. 

Joxter bristled. He could feel his hair puffing up beneath his hat. It wasn't a dangerous situation, per se, but he could feel his heart beating faster in his chest. He had never desperately wanted to be a father, but if he had a son, he expected to at least know about it. Or at the very, very least, he expected to know what had become of him. 

"We've been invited to Moominvalley," Joxter muttered as he stalked out of the room. Perhaps he would go by himself. He would go alone, meet his son, and spend the rest of his life apologising to that son in case he had been in any doubt about whether his father loved him. 

Because he did. He might have never met this Snufkin, but if he was his own flesh and blood, he knew he loved him more than he could ever comprehend.

He checked that the children hadn't destroyed anything before pulling on his overcoat and walking away from the house, faster and with more purpose than usual. The children weren't alarmed by this – they were used to his comings and goings. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he needed time away from Mymble and the family.

Yes, her carefree nature was one of the things he loved most about her. But of all things, it felt like she should have told him if they had a child together. What in the name of the Groke had happened to him? 

In his letter, Moominpappa had invited him to Moominvalley in late August. That gave him a few months to figure everything out. To try and talk to Mymble, see if she really remembered anything about Snufkin, or to see if she was hiding something from him. 

Joxter also blamed himself. If he hadn't left for so long, he would have been there for Snufkin's birth. He could have raised him – taught him how to hunt, and fish, and which plants were safe to eat, and which ones were tasty. Perhaps he even would have been a good father.

 

* * *

 

It was a difficult few days, and Joxter's mood had barely improved when he returned to Mymble's house. He felt positive enough to be civil, though, and that was enough for him. 

They fell back into their usual routine, though now there was a Booble in the room. Joxter kept trying to slip in questions about their son, and Mymble would avoid them with the skill of a mother with more then thirty children. 

Soon it came time to leave for Moominvalley, however. Joxter didn't have many material possessions, but he wanted something to give to his son – the beginning of an apology, perhaps. 

Mymble found him contemplating his belongings, and scratched her nails against his scalp with a chuckle. That always made him hiss, but this time the hiss wasn't followed with a laugh or a kiss – he glared over his shoulder at her. 

"Something wrong, dear?" she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking over the scattered items. 

Joxter stayed silent for a few more moments, packing a bright yellow scarf into his bag. "I'm leaving for Moominvalley. Tomorrow."

"Ah, yes. The letter," Mymble agreed. "Would you like some company on your trip?" 

"I wasn't sure you'd want to come," Joxter muttered. He shoved a pair of blue socks into the bag, along with a striped jumper. "You haven't been very interested in discussing our son."

"I can't say there's much to discuss, kitten," Mymble said. 

Despite his mood, the nickname still made Joxter want to purr. 

After he was silent for a few moments, Mymble continued. "I wish I could say I remembered anything. I feel truly awful if anything happened to him, but it seems like he ended up safe and sound in Moominvalley, doesn't it? And that's the best place for a lost soul to be."

He was still angry, but Joxter had to admit that she had a point. Of all places for a little boy with no parents to end up, Moominvalley was the best one. "Of course I won't stop you from coming," he agreed after a long moment. "

And so that was it. The trip didn't make Joxter's stomach twist in knots quite so much anymore, but it was also infinitely more complicated with a Mymble and thirty-four children to coordinate. 

Despite the difficulty of travelling with such a big group, and the nerves, it made Joxter feel a thousand times better at night to curl up against Mymble. She was big and warm and familiar, and he couldn't quite stop himself from purring as he drifted off to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Soon they bumped into Hodgkins, the Island Ghost, the Muddler, and the Fuzzy.

It felt incredibly surreal to be back in such company. In some ways, it felt like no time at all had passed. The Ghost was still embroidering and talking about the forgotten bones. Hodgkins was still his old logical self. The Fuzzy and the Muddler never let go of each other's paws, and seemed to make the most sense to each other.

Joxter had been embarrassed to tell them all about their son. He knew that they all saw him as a layabout, and someone who brushed off responsibility, but abandoning one's son for so many years of his life was positively shameful. 

As it turned out, though, the Fuzzy and the Muddler also had a son. Joxter could see exactly how their son could have gone missing, though – they were two of the most scatterbrained people he had the pleasure to know, unless it was to do with buttons. 

So here they were. A group of friends, from that big adventure all those years ago, reunited to go and meet their long-lost sons. Who had all congregated at the home of the one member of the gang who wasn't around. Joxter had never been one to believe in fate, but this was the most convincing evidence he'd seen thus far. The Ghost kept bringing this up, talking about red strings and friendship and bonds stronger than space and time.

How anyone had ever been afraid of him, Joxter would never know. 

They kept travelling, and got reacquainted. Hearing about his old friends' exploits almost made him forget about his worries, but soon enough, a familiar-looking house came into view. 

It was an absolutely classic Moominpappa build – tall, with a charming veranda and funny little bits poking out from all angles. It made Joxter smile, but a silence had fallen over their group which reminded him why they were here. Now his heart was beating faster, and he desperately wanted to flee. 

He couldn't, though. They'd come all this way, and even if Snufkin hated him for the rest of his life, he wanted to take his chance to apologise. 

Moominpappa had expressed in his letter that he wanted them to arrive at nine in the evening, so they spent a while exploring the surrounding forest. The Mymble's children had been here before, and they seemed to enjoy climbing the trees and eating the various fruits they found. Joxter, the Muddler, and the Fuzzy were more solemn than the others – they sat in the middle of a little copse of fir trees, watching the Ghost embroider a skull and crossbones for what had to be the thousandth time. 

Soon, evening fell.

Darkness was just beginning to pull at the edges of the valley when Hodgkins stood up from the tree stump he'd been leaning against. "Right. Let's get going, shall we?" he said, clapping his hands together as he set off. It took the Mymble a while to gather up the children, and that gave Joxter a chance to gather his thoughts. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his face, taking deep breaths. He didn't feel like himself – he felt anxious and fluttery and sick with worry. 

Short nails scratched against the back of his head, and he startled, but of course it was Mymble. She was smiling down at him, fond and adoring, and he told himself that even if Snufkin hated him for the rest of his life, at least he'd still have his Mymble. 

"The only time I've seen you look so worried is the first time you pushed the children into the river," she said fondly, straightening Joxter's hat and leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. "Don't be so afraid, kitten. Whatever happens, happens. All we can do is try to move on."

She hurried after the others, and Joxter sloped along behind her. He had to admit, he fully agreed. He couldn't change the fact that he'd been absent for most of Snufkin's life (by most, I mean all, until the coming moments). All he could do was wait and see how Snufkin himself reacted. If he reacted badly, well, he had been through difficult things before, and he had always survived. He could get through this. 

It was raining now. This did nothing to help Joxter's nerves – he wasn't one for superstitions, but it always felt proper that the weather should reflect a person's mood, and Joxter didn't want to feel rainy this evening. A beautiful, warm August night would have been far preferable. He pulled his pipe out of his overcoat's pocket and started chewing at the mouthpiece. He couldn't very well light it in this weather, but chewing it gave him something to do. He was surprised he hadn't bitten it in half yet.

When they broke free of the forest, Joxter caught up with the Mymble and took her hand. It was large compared to his own, and her warmth made him breathe a bit more evenly. Usually she would make a throwaway comment about him chewing the pipe, but today she left it be, simply squeezing his fingers. 

There was a tent pitched near the river, and Joxter tried to drink in every detail, as he knew fine well that it was his Snufkin's. The tent was well-pitched – even the strongest gale wouldn't blow it down. There was a little campfire, and some bowls and spoons, which were full of rainwater. These all seemed like inane things, but it made Joxter's hair prickle to think that his son was already so self-sufficient, even though he was so young. 

Hodgkins had his ear pressed up against the front door. He seemed to be listening for some kind of sign, but he kept beckoning for the others to come closer. Nobody obliged – even the Mymble seemed apprehensive now, her children standing guard in front of and around her despite being a fraction of her size. At least it made Joxter feel better for being unwilling to get closer. 

The Muddler and the Fuzzy were barely closer themselves – the only thing pushing them closer to the Moominhouse was the group of children taking up so much space.

Whatever sign Hodgkins had been waiting for eventually came, and he knocked on the door; three hard, short knocks. 

There seemed to be some commotion inside, but then Moominpappa opened the door – and how he'd grown! So tall and strong, and with a handsome top hat to boot. Joxter almost felt self-conscious, as he'd barely changed. 

Moominpappa greeted them eagerly, ushering Hodgkins inside along with the Ghost. 

Joxter had barely time to look at the Mymble before there was yet another commotion from inside the house, and a creature who couldn't be anything other than the Muddler and the Fuzzy's son came barrelling outside making an unholy noise. He looked ecstatic to see his parents – he looked between them frantically for a moment before grabbing both of their paws and pulling them into the house. 

The house which looked so warm and dry and inviting, and which smelled of food and drinks and company. 

Well, one only has one chance to make a first impression, and this was Joxter's only opportunity to make a first impression on his son. He fixed his hat, set his pipe firmly between his teeth, and shoved his hands into his pockets so that nobody would see how tightly his fists were clenched. 

He didn't know what might await him on the other side of the door. First, he registered Moominpappa and his family – his lovely wife, whom he remembered from the island, and the younger Moomintroll, who looked so much like the Moomin he had known and loved back in the day. He took in the Moomins for only the briefest moment, though, because there was someone far more important in the room. 

Snufkin. 

He had been told that Snufkin looked like him, but he hadn't been quite prepared for just how much. Messy hair hidden under a big pointy hat, a green overcoat, a sharp nose…but he had all of the Mymble's qualities that he loved, too. His features were a bit softer, his hair a lighter shade of brown, and his eyes were a lovely warm hazel. 

For a moment, his Snufkin just stared, wide-eyed. Joxter was almost certain he was in for a smack, or he was expecting Snufkin to shout at him, but he got neither of those things. Instead, Snufkin all but threw himself at his father, locking his arms tight around him. 

Joxter had never met his son before, but it all felt achingly familiar – from the smell of flowers and herbs and campfire, to the scratch of the brim of Snufkin's hat against his cheek. It took a moment for him to get over the shock of it all, but then he was hugging his son, protective and probably too tight to be comfortable. Snufkin didn't seem to mind, though – he only tightened his hold on the Joxter. 

Mymble was standing nearby, watching them embrace with a warm smile. She already loved Snufkin – he was her son, after all – but he was Joxter's only child. She had the thirty-four other children to keep an eye on, and while she was at it, she could catch up with Little My! 

The whole night was like a fever dream. For two very solitary people, Snufkin and Joxter barely let go of each other all night long, always an arm slung around a shoulder or linked through an elbow. They talked about…well, not much of anything, really. But that was what they really needed right now. The important stuff could wait. For now they were just a father and a son at a party.

Joxter learned that his son had managed to charm all of Moominvalley – and beyond – without really trying at all. That would be the impeccable mix of Joxter and Mymble genes. 

Moominpappa also whispered genially that he and Joxter would most likely end up being parents-in-law together at some point, and when Joxter saw the way Moomintroll and his Snufkin huddled together, giggling over some nonsense, his heart clenched. 

It ached to think of the life he could have had, raising his little boy, but it soared to think of what the future held. Getting to know his son, and the family he'd made for himself, and perhaps being allowed into that chosen family. 

 

* * *

 

When dawn came, they piled into the new and improved _Oshun Oxtra_ for a trip. 

Joxter didn't know where they were going or how long they would be, just as he liked it. Mymble had ushered all the children down into the belly of the boat to ensure that none of them were left behind – perhaps meeting Snufkin had made her wish to be a slightly more attentive parent. But only slightly. The Muddler was telling Sniff all about his new, inherited button collection, and the Fuzzy was watching over them, looking every part the proud and protective mother. 

Moominpappa and Moomintroll had joined Hodgkins at the captain's bridge. They were sailing along slowly but surely, land getting smaller and smaller behind them until it was just a smudge on the horizon. There was a delicious smell wafting up from the galley, where Moominmamma was busy at work, and from the sounds of it, the Ghost was trying to lend a hand in the kitchen.

It was so different from the last time the boat had been so full, but it still carried the same sense of excitement and adventure. 

And some things never changed. The Joxter was curled up in the middle of a coiled up rope, near the bow of the boat. He had offered his help, but it had been denied, and he wanted to take the opportunity for a nap. He had adored the party at the Moominhouse, but it had drained him. He was tired enough that his bones felt heavy, and he could barely open his eyes. It was a good tired, though – whenever he felt a bit more awake, he just thought about Snufkin. His sweet little Snufkin. 

In all his wildest imaginings, he wouldn't have been able to come up with a better child. He was clever and kind and funny, and even without Joxter's influence, he had carried on the proud family tradition of harassing park keepers and vandalising private property. Despite being so exhausted, Joxter could summon up just enough energy to smile at the thought. 

He pulled the brim of his hat down over his face, still grinning to himself, and settled into a more comfortable sleep. 

 

* * *

 

Snufkin could barely believe that the night had happened. He had been happy without a family – he was a solitary person, and he could take care of himself easily. He had often idly wondered about his parents, though. Hearing Moominpappa talk about his father had been so intriguing, but he had expected that to be the end of it. And that would have been okay!

But it had turned out to be so much better than okay. 

He had encountered the Mymble before, and she was as big and bold and intimidating as always with her army of children. In fact, he thought he might have been so adept at taking care of the Woodies because of his Mymble genes. It would certainly make sense. 

It was easier to see similarities between himself and the Joxter, however. 

They both preferred a solitary lifestyle, and they both liked to explore. They were also both very relaxed, preferring to do things at their own pace and on their own terms. And beyond all that, there was the similar appearances: Snufkin's features had been softened by his Mymble genes, but they still bore a good resemblance to each other. Not to mention their hats, scarves, and overcoats. 

The stories the Joxter had told him about their ancestors made him proud to be from such a family, too. It seemed like Snufkin was just the youngest in a long line of anarchists. 

As the boat set off, Snufkin had spent time with Moomintroll. They sat in companionable silence together, watching the wake fan out behind them as the boat cut a path through the water. Honestly, Snufkin was all talked out. He had adored getting to know his dad, but it had been a lot more conversation than he was accustomed to. A couple of years ago, Moomin might have tried to drag out a conversation, but now he was just as happy to sit quietly in Snufkin's company. It was a relief – they would have plenty of time to chat later on in the voyage. 

Their shoulders were just brushing where they sat together, but soon Snufkin couldn't stop himself from yawning every once in a while.

"Go and have a nap, Snufkin," Moomin said fondly, reaching up to tug lightly at his scarf. "I'll go and help Pappa with…well, something. I'll find something to do."

"You're the best. I'll come and find you later," Snufkin sighed, leaning a little closer until he could nuzzle his nose against Moomin's snout. It was a gentle touch, but it still left them both with red cheeks and goofy smiles. 

Snufkin set off to look for a place to sleep. The boat was big, but crowded: there was no hope of a bed downstairs, not with the Mymble and all of her children down there. There was no chance of peace on the ship's bridge, since Moominpappa and Hodgkins were busy reminiscing. The deck was taken up by Sniff, shouting every time he saw an exciting new button.

He wandered up to the bow of the boat. The frontmost part of the boat was sectioned off from the rest of the deck, and it was where all the spare parts were kept. Folded-up sails, rolls of chains, and long, wound circles of rope.

Lying in one of the big rope circles was the Joxter. He was on his back, the brim of his hat pulled down to cover his face, and his legs draped over the ropes as if he were sprawled over a reclining chair rather than a big mass of rope.   

It still sent a funny little thrill through Snufkin to think that this was his dad. He had heard tell of the Joxter in the past, and people had spoken of him as a dangerous beast. One you certainly wouldn't want to encounter in a dark forest, especially if he was hungry. Snufkin had always avoided areas that the Joxter was known to frequent.

Now, though, he crept over and sat himself down. He shuffled to get comfortable, and rested his head against the ropes near the Joxter's shoulder.

"There's room for a small one in here," a low voice said. 

Snufkin jumped. His instincts were good – they were inherited, of course, but he'd also honed them after years of living alone in forests and strange places – but he wasn't sure how Joxter knew he was there. His hat was pulled down over his face, and Snufkin had taken care to be quiet. "Sorry if I woke you up."

"I'm a light sleeper," Joxter said. As if to prove his earlier point, he shuffled sideways and patted the new space beside him. It looked perfectly Snufkin-sized, so Snufkin climbed carefully over the rope, slotting into the little space. It was a bit of a tight squeeze, but it was comfortable. Joxter was warm, and he smelled like tobacco and the Mymble's perfume, and Snufkin caught one bright blue eye glinting at him from beneath the brim of his hat.

Snufkin tried to bite back a smile, but he didn't do a good job of it. 

Time passed, and Snufkin was sure Joxter had fallen asleep. There was a gentle rumbling sound that might have been the ship's engine, and usually it would have been enough to get Snufkin to sleep. He had tried, but he was in that annoying between-stage where he was too tired to do anything, but not quite tired enough to fall asleep when he had so much to think about. 

This time when the Joxter spoke, it didn't take Snufkin by surprise. He seemed to experiment with a few sounds before letting actual words out of his mouth. "I suppose you didn't really have time to be nervous about meeting me," he said, tipping his hat back just enough to gaze at Snufkin. 

"Not really. I might have been nervous if I'd thought about it a lot, but I was just excited to meet you," Snufkin admitted, smiling over at his dad. "Why? Were you nervous?"

Joxter gave a wry little laugh and nodded. "More than you can even imagine," he agreed, draping an arm around Snufkin's shoulders and squeezing him tight. "I was convinced you'd want a fight. Or an argument, at least. I definitely didn't think you'd be excited."

Snufkin was about to ask why, but of course it was obvious. Today was the first time he had met his father, and that wasn't the usual order of things. "There's no point being angry about it," he said after a moment's consideration. "It's just how things turned out. Nothing we can do to change it."

"That's my boy," Joxter said genially, knocking Snufkin's hat aside to ruffle his hair with one paw. 

Snufkin snorted, batting at his paw and pulling his hat back on, before levelling him with a slightly more serious gaze. "Why did you leave me?" 

It was a loaded question, and he felt bad for springing it without much warning. Joxter tipped his head back and gazed up to the sky, though. It had faded from pink to lilac to blue, but the clouds were still pink around the edges. A perfect late summer morning. "I didn't know you existed until a few months ago," Joxter said reluctantly. 

There was a long pause, but Snufkin didn't dare interrupt. Joxter looked like he was lost in thoughts, his eyes darting between the few clouds in the sky. 

"I panicked. About…life. I had never wanted to settle down, but here I was, living a picture-perfect family life with the Mymble and all her children. So I freaked out and I left and I travelled, but after a while I realised that I was being stupid, so I went back. In the time I was away, Mymble gave birth to you, and she…never told me about it," Joxter said, trying not to sound too bitter about the whole thing. "Like you say, we can't change it. And you've become a great young man without me, obviously. But I just wish I could have been a good father to you."

Snufkin watched his face. For someone who usually seemed so laid-back, he looked a bit despondent. And while Snufkin had only known him for a few hours, he didn't want to see his father looking so sad. So he elbowed him gently in the side, and reached up with his other hand to straighten his hat for him. "You still can be a good father."

At that, Joxter grinned, his sharp teeth on display. Deep down, Snufkin's instincts shouted at him to run, but instead he threw his arms around the Joxter and squeezed tight. Joxter returned the hug, his sharp chin hooking over Snufkin's shoulder. 

Snufkin paused. There was that rumbling again. "Dad, are you purring?"

Joxter let out a low chuckle. "Don't ruin the moment, son." 

 

**Author's Note:**

> i already loved joxter but then i read moominpappa's exploits and i CANNOT stop thinking about him…he likes big ladies, he's lazy, he's just a little feral cat man…it's everything!!!
> 
> i'm super enjoying this moomin renaissance, it's so much fun! it's such a nice fandom, and there are so many amazing fics out there!!! i'm in love with every version of joxter i've read so far!
> 
> also, i should have proofread this before posting it but im not going to do that. hope you enjoy the fic, thank you for reading, if you leave kudos/comment i love you!!


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